


Training The Red Hood

by TheFightingBull



Series: The Red Hood [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Deathstroke - Freeform, Dick Grayson - Freeform, Grief/Mourning, High Rating Just In Case, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jason Todd is an asshole, Jason's potty mouth, M/M, Manu Bennett version of Deathstroke, Mentions of Batman - Freeform, Nightmares, Nightwing - Freeform, Non PC Insults, Not At ALL Compliant, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Not a slash, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Past Abuse, Past Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Rise of The Red Hood, Robin - Freeform, Sexual Tension, Slade Is An Asshole, The League of Assassins (DCU), The Red, The Red Hood - Freeform, Training, Unresolved Sexual Tension, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2019-08-22 06:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16592954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFightingBull/pseuds/TheFightingBull
Summary: Jason has nearly finished his training with The League of Assassins. He has just one more 'teacher' being sent to him. He's already been warned that his smart mouth won't be tolerated, but Jason's never been one alter his behavior for anyone. Besides, he has much larger plans than The League of Assassins knows of. He just has to stay the course long enough to get back to Gotham. Once he's in Gotham, that's when the real work will begin.*HUGE CANON DIVERGENCE! This is a prequel to my other story Rise of The Red Hood. If I swear in the tags, I guarantee you I'll swear in the story too, just FYI.





	1. The Final Teacher

Jason sighed heavily as he finished his run and workout in the woods. His body ached in sweet, life affirming soreness. He savored the feeling as he breathed in deeply. The forest air of the high mountains brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t known in some time. For the most part, even if he still had massive temper ‘issues’, he was so fucking grateful to be alive that he felt content.

A violent yawn interrupted his thoughts. He’d pass out soon, though. That’s when all the good feelings he’d been storing up would be spent. He hated to sleep. Rarely allowed it and often only slept when his body simply shut down on him.

Most of his teachers had warned and then shown him the dangers of such neglectful and reckless behavior. He’d been woken to a knife in the gut twice, once with one to his throat, and hands attempting to strangle him. All four perished in the rage that was Red once the training had been ‘completed’.

Fuck the assassins and their stupid little club.

He checked his watch. His next teacher wasn’t due to arrive for another twelve hours. No way he could hold out on sleep and still be sharp enough to assess the newcomer. Like it or not, Jason knew he had to get some fucking shut-eye. He’d been warned that whoever the next teacher was, he’d lose his tongue if he back talked ‘em.

Talia hated him, so he wouldn’t be surprised if the next guy to train him was also sent to dispatch him from the world. Then again, Talia pretty much hated everyone. She was a rotten, cruel, control-freak. Her father wasn’t much better. They both acted like they respected Bruce, but nothing could be further from the truth. People who respected each other didn’t attempt to brainwash and retrain their former partners.

They also didn’t hide children from each other, either. Just wait ‘til Bruce figured that one out…

Another yawn attacked him, and Jason forced himself back inside the log cabin. He set up all the security systems including locking the doors, and with a fear he refused to acknowledge, approached his most relentless and dangerous enemy.

The bed mocked him, appearing all warmth and comfort. Singing to him like a siren’s call of rest, peace and ease. It promised him White instead of Red or Black. It whispered of kind smiles on the faces of loved ones inside of gentle dreams. Crisp, soft white sheets beckoned him as the large downy comforter guaranteed him the pleasure of feeling toasty and snug.

He swallowed hard. He didn’t think he could willingly get into the bed. His hands began to tremble at the mere thought. The bed was a fucking liar. White? Never. Only Black met him in the confines of his unfocused, uncontrolled mind. Every time he dared sleep, he risked not just his sanity, but his life.

“Christ, Jason,” He spoke, just to make sure he was still awake and that he hadn’t been fooled into some Inception worthy mind-fuck.

He’d just read instead.

Yeah.

Grabbing the old classic off his nightstand, he fled from the room and went to the main area in the front of the cabin. Best to be closer to the entrance for when the guy or gal arrived. He stared at a stiff, completely uncomfortable wooden chair in the small kitchen. If tried to read himself into relaxation on that thing, he’d never get anything resembling rest. How many hours had it been since he last slept? Twenty-nine? Before that, it was well over forty and the reprieve between the two stints had only been a couple hours at most.

His eyes looked hopelessly to the large leather couch in the living room. Maybe, just maybe, if he sat on that cozy looking piece of furniture, he could just lose himself in the Victorian-era world of Jane Austen. A place where there wasn’t a life or death struggle, where there wasn’t any violence beyond soul-cutting whit and dry humor. A place where the disgrace of an entire family was saved by the love of a Billionaire…or was Darcy a millionaire?

Yeah, that was a much better plan.

 

* * *

 

When Slade Wilson entered the Cabin, he was as silent as the dead. Or well, most of the dead. The boy he’d been sent to train was dead too, but that hadn’t stopped him from being a noisy little fuck. He’d apparently killed several of the League’s most prominent ‘trainers’.

The alarm systems had been a bit of hinderance which showed promise. They’d actually taken him almost an hour to bypass. He’d always assumed the second Robin had been stupid and dull. Too many knocks to the head before Mr. Wayne could get him all polished up to be anything more than a brain-dead brute.

He picked the lock of the back door within seconds and heard the moans and pleas of the boy he was here for. To be fair, it made it much easier to enter the cabin undetected. It sounded like the boy was having a drunken shouting match. Slade’s brows furrowed as he came through the hallway and stopped in the living room.

It was a Hell of nightmare the white and black haired boy was having. If Slade hadn’t been given the details of Jason Todd’s resurrection, or what little was known of it, he’d be confused at seeing him so…trapped in his thrashing. Unfortunately, Ra’s had given him a full account and he knew the boy was reliving his return and was currently ‘buried alive’.

“Todd.” He growled in a deep voice, he certainly wasn’t going to touch him. The past four that Jason had killed wound up on the list solely because they attacked him while he slept, trying to prove some point or other. So far, Jason’s point had been the most proven.

The boy’s limbs were locked, his face screwed up in agonized fear, his body rocking as his legs tried to bend. Jason Todd wasn’t so much breathing as he was hyperventilating. His skin was pale, his hair damp with sweat. His lips trembled, sometimes opening in a baring of teeth. Two small tears left wet stains down his left cheek.

“Jason!”

This time a mournful cry sounded, and his closed eyes lids looked desperate to open, though clearly unable to. His hands came up, but not fully, just enough to touch where a lid would be, his hands trying to claw at…

Slade shuddered.

No way he was letting this kid pull him into his insanities. With a glance to the kitchen counter, Slade saw some paper towels. He walked noisily over, pulled several off the cardboard roll, wadded them up into a ball, soaked them beneath the sink’s tap and then turned to Jason. He’d hoped that the clatter would wake the brat, but so far, no good.

He threw the wet ball at the kid’s face and the reaction was instantaneous. The boy screamed as he sat straight up, the sound wounded and terrified. It was an unholy sound, if one were to hold that ideology. He understood why several of the more superstitious amongst the Assassins wanted nothing to do with Jason Todd.

The boy’s body wracked with dry sobs, and Slade knew at once he was going into shock. That didn’t make it safe to approach, but he figured that walking into his line of sight would inspire some kind of recognition. He hadn’t fought the kid during his tenure as a Robin more than twice, but Slade knew damned well he was an unforgettable threat.

“Todd,” He said as he walked over to him, grateful he’d come fully armed and prepared to fight.

The crazy ones were always them most dangerous and if he could avoid spooking Jason, all the better. It wasn’t because crazies were more unpredictable like most thought, but rather, it was their total lack of self-preservation that made them deadly. If a man didn’t give a damn about protecting himself, he certainly wouldn’t flinch when it came to harming others.

“Jason!” He called again when the boy looked right through him, as if he wasn’t standing there at all. It was disturbing and sent a chill down the mercenary’s spine. “Easy, Kid.”

“Bruce?” His unfocused, unseeing eyes called out.

Was he still asleep?

He shrugged and decided to take a chance. “Yeah, it’s me, Bruce.”

That was not the right answer.

All at once, Jason’s eyes narrowed, full of life. Full of fire. Full of hate. Yet still, unaware as the boy launched himself forward to attack. The sheer aggression and strength that Jason fought him with was unexpected and nothing like the small, frail Boy Wonder he’d pursued for so long, nor like the lanky, clumsy one that Jason had once been.

He took a few punches, feeling out and testing the strength of the former Robin. It was startling, but then Slade shouldn’t have been surprised. Unlike Dick who’d grown into a limber, lithe young man with an agile speed; Todd’s muscle held great strength and while Slade wouldn’t use word flexible, he could certainly agree to resourceful and quick.  

In the trauma induced delusion, Slade actually struggled to fight back without harming his temporary apprentice. The kid wasn’t sparring or defending himself. He was _trying_ to harm Slade, actively trying to _kill_ him. The most unforeseen of these circumstances was that it was pretending to be Bruce that triggered such a ferocious attack.

It was a very interesting development.

Finally, after taking a nearly stunning kick to the side of his head, Slade had enough. The boy’s strength could have knocked him unconscious and would be if it weren’t for ducking just enough. With the boy in such an unstable mindset, who knew if he’d have survived being knocked out.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Slade threw a ruthless punch to the boy’s temple. Tit for tat, so to speak. The boy crumpled to the ground, but Slade was amazed to see he was still conscious. Even Batman had fallen once or twice to Slade’s hits.

Now he was impressed.

“You done?” He demanded in attempted to take control of the situation. He crouched low to get a look at the teen but remained well out of striking distance.

The younger nodded, red flaming his entire body as his eyes stayed on the floor. Shame, embarrassment, guilt? It didn’t really matter to Slade. Emotions didn’t really concern him and neither did the boy’s instability, at least not when it came down to the kid’s suffering. He just needed the Jason to get it under control before he got Slade injured.

“Why are you here?” Jason demanded, still looked dazed and confused.

“I’m your final teacher, Kid.” Slade answered and chuckled as the kid turned ghost white. “Guess you remember me.”

Trying to regain some sense of dignity, Jason snapped. “Bozos in Halloween Masks are heard to forget.” Slade wasted no time, cuffing his ear hard. “Ow!”

“I’m not Wayne, got it? I don’t do lip. You mouth off to me and I’ll end you.” He warned. He never could understand how the Batman tolerated those boys’ constant prattling. When Jason didn’t react, he grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. “Do you understand?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck me,” he breathed through his only partially closed windpipe. “this is going to suck.”


	2. Can't Sleep! Clown Will Eat Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to this fun little experiment. Hope those of you reading it are enjoying it. I figured I'd update you all on this little side story while I wait for the next chapter of ROTRH to be edited by my beta Gwydionx.

“Can’t sleep! Clown will eat me.” Jason drawled humorlessly as Slade glared down at him.

He was leaning against the foot of the bed in the small hotel room, sitting on the dirty carpeted floor. The place managed to squeeze two hard, uncomfortable queen-sized beds in the room, along with a dresser and a tv atop it. Then there was a bathroom at the back of the room containing a toilet and a shower.

“You’re doing it again. Aren’t you, Kid?” Slade growled, as his one brown eye narrowed in warning. Jason knew he was pushing the man, but for some reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Still he feigned confusion. “You’re referencing something banal and being a smart ass.”

Jason barely arched a brow as he held the man’s eye. He wasn’t gonna blink first. Hell, he wasn’t gonna close his eyes for longer than a blink if he could get away with it. That’s what started the whole damned conversation to begin with. Slade wanted Jason to sleep. In a bed. Under the same roof as Deathstroke!

_I think the fuck not!_

“And your point?” Maybe he could get Slade to knock him unconscious? Did that count as sleep? He wasn’t gonna kill him, Jason was fairly certain of that. He was getting paid _way_ too much money to train him properly. He could at least trust in the mercenary’s greed to keep him alive until the training was completed.

After that…Well, he supposed he’d just have to start watching his mouth.

“You keep running that mouth like you don’t know what do with it and I’ll find something for it do.” Slade threatened.

Jason laughed. He couldn’t help it. That was _so_ not a threat to him. Not coming from the admittedly attractive, powerful man before him. He tried to stop, even as Slade approached him, but he couldn’t stop. He knew he sounded crazy and with as tired as he was, he knew he was bordering on the hysterical, but it was just so damned funny.

“You think that _scares_ me?” He managed between bouts of laughter. “I’m a fucking fag and you,” He paused, not at all concerned that he’d just managed to throw Slade Wilson off. “you are a wet dream, Deathstroke.”

The single eye widened before immediately narrowing again. “I know that shit used to work on Dick, and it probably worked on Ollie long before him, but,” He wiped away a tear from his mirth. “yeah, that won’t work with me.” 

He shouldn’t have been surprised by the kick to the gut, nor should he have been alarmed when Deathstroke managed to grab him by the throat and lift him to his feet. Guess being surprised, and alarmed were further proof that he was still amongst the living and hadn’t died. Again.

“You done?” Slade hissed.

For once, self-preservation reared its head. “Yep,” He rasped out. “I’m good.”

“Then get your ass in that bed and sleep.”

Jason’s eyes flicked from the angry face in front of him to the vile bed and back again. He felt the fingers around his throat squeeze, so instead of giving a verbal response, Jason shook his head. He didn’t care if the man choked him out. It was better than willingly getting into that bed.

Slade’s intelligent brown eye seemed to analyze him, and Jason still wasn’t scared enough to do as he was told. The bed was by far the biggest threat in the room and the damned mercenary should have known that. Hadn’t he learned anything from their first encounter two days ago?

“You will get slow, sloppy, and weak.” The man said carefully, his voice thick with barely restrained menace.

Jason couldn’t respond, he didn’t know how to. He fell back to the floor once released. The man scoffed down at him and then with calculated cruelty, shook his head and said, “I always knew Grayson would be the better student.”

The words were a slap in the face and before Jason could tap into his rage, it was his pride that took the brunt of the blow. It shouldn’t have hurt that fucking bad, but it did. He swallowed hard against past insecurities and tried to give his anger a direct line to his mouth. Unfortunately, his mind and worse still, his heart was reeling from the shock that he was still so fucking sensitive about his place beneath the blue-bird in the eyes of literally _everyone_ that mattered.

Another huff of contempt and Slade walked into the bathroom, slamming the door shut without another word. Jason forced himself to his feet and fumbled about his bag until he found what he needed most. He grabbed the items, slung a black zip-up hoodie over his shoulders and stepped outside of the musty old hotel room.

He walked down the busted concrete steps and to a small bench under a tree. Once seated he tugged out a cigarette and lit up. He sat there for at least a half hour, chain-smoking three in quick succession. He couldn’t change much about the way he felt, but he could regret revealing to Slade one his greatest weaknesses. For handing the man who was training him a surefire way of breaking him down if he so chose.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He replayed so many arguments in his mind. Recalled the way Bruce would glower in disappointment when he did something that wasn’t at all out of character for him; but was certainly something Dick would never do. The way Alfred would try to tell him that anything Dick could do, he was more than capable of accomplishing as well.

He remembered the way the Teen Titans seemed so irritated that Jason wasn’t Nightwing, wasn’t the original Robin. The way every villain taunted him for being clumsier or dumber than Dick. He couldn’t even attend public school like Dick had, because he was too… He flushed as he revisited the humiliation.

He started up a fourth cigarette as he heard footsteps approaching, inhaling as deeply and painfully as he could. He looked back to be sure. Yep, Slade, just out of the shower and in sweats and a t-shirt and approaching with a confident stride. The older man only stopped when he was standing in front of him. Jason didn’t bother speaking, though. He didn’t want to get kicked, choked, or punched again. Jason could only leash his explosive temper for so long.

“Let’s try this again.” Slade started. “I will not allow you to hold me back because you refuse to sleep or because you pass out at the wrong time.”

Jason looked up and nodded. It wasn’t that Slade, or to be fair any of his prior teachers, were being unreasonable. Contrary to popular belief, Jason _wasn’t_ stupid. He _knew_ he had to sleep. He just…He just couldn’t, not during a season of Black. This particular season had run longer than ever before and showed no signs of fading away. It’s not like he wanted insomnia, though! Not once did Jason ever recall asking to be tormented by nightmares on fucking crack!

“So, what’s it going to be, Kid?” Slade continued. “You going to try sleeping under your own free will or are you leaving the matter in my hands?”

Watching the glint in that hateful brown eye told Jason he very much didn’t want to let Slade try his own methods of getting him to sleep. He swallowed hard at the idea of keeping his eyes closed for longer than two seconds. He felt the panic rising, but he wasn’t sure it was as strong as his gut feeling that Slade would do some major harm to either his body or psyche if he didn’t try.

“I’ve got it.” Jason muttered.

“Get off the nicotine, Kid, you’d be amazed how much better you sleep when you aren’t poisoning your system or over stimulating it.” Slade growled before turning and heading back to the hotel. He paused and turned to look back, “Let’s go.”

Stomping out the nearly finished cigarette, Jason got to his feet and followed.

 

Slade was a light sleeper and always had been. From as far back as he could recall the slightest noise would drag him from his slumber. That night was no different. His one eye watched as the boy found himself paralyzed once more, mid-nightmare, and started growling. Like an animal. He had no doubt the kid’s rest was going to be a huge waste of time, but Slade wasn’t certain what he should do about it.

He could speak with Ra’s or Talia, after all, he’d heard that the Lazarus Pit could have some very negative side-effects. Especially when it came to one’s mental health. And yet, Slade somehow believed that the pit had nothing to do with whatever Todd was suffering from.

There was just too many trauma’s in that one’s mind to be certain of any one thing causing the night-terrors Jason suffered. Though, night-terrors in teens and adults were very rare. He didn’t know what else this could be described as. So he waited. Waited for the scream that would bring Jason out of whatever Hell he was currently in.

Unlike last time, Slade would see if Jason fell back to sleep on his own, as was the case with most children that suffered the affliction. By morning, Todd shouldn’t be able to recall anything about the nightmare. Or at least, that’s how it worked according to Web MD. Then again, it could also be PTSD and it’s not like the kid wouldn’t have enough to fuel that kind of psychosis.

He checked his watch.

Any minute now.

Nothing.

A few tremors racked the body beneath the blankets and then…he was still. Not a single whimper or groan escaped. His breathing slowed to a rate that was considered normal for someone in a deep, peaceful sleep. Relieved at his own misdiagnosis, Slade allowed himself to follow Jason into a restful slumber.

 

Jason woke with a start, his heart beating rapidly as sweat dripped down his forehead. Thankfully, he hadn’t been noisy as he did so. He really, really didn’t want to wake the man sleeping nearby. It was embarrassing enough that it was occurring at all, but that he was having nightmares in front of Slade ‘The Terminator’ Wilson was a cruel blow.

Irritably he rubbed his eyes with the heels of hands until all he saw were spots. It was a hell of lot better than the alternative. He couldn’t fully remember what he’d been ‘dreaming’ of but based on the cackling laughter in the back of his mind, he was pretty sure he could guess.

Sighing heavily, he rolled out of the bed, trying to be as quiet as he was physically capable of. After only one step toward the bathroom however, he realized Slade’s breathing had changed. It was slightly faster, indicating he was most likely awake.

“Sorry,” he muttered lamely as he stopped worrying about goose-stepping and headed for the bathroom.

He could hear the man rising from his own bed and wondered if Slade would pick a fight over it. Honestly, Jason only knew the man by reputation. But what a Hell of a reputation it was. He’d been warned by the League that the mercenary didn’t tolerate smart asses and Jason knew from his former life that Slade was deadly and merciless.

Something about money, too.

Jason yawned as he approached the toilet and pulled himself from his drawers before he aimed and fired, yawning for the second time in the matter of seconds. He was so damned tired. What he wouldn’t give for six solid hours of nightmare-less sleep.

An irritable growl forced his eyes open, eyes he hadn’t meant to close to begin with. Was he being stalked by a bear or was Slade about to murder him mid piss? He turned his head to the wide-open door of the bathroom. No Deathstroke.

Good.

As he walked out of the bathroom, he found himself face to face with the mercenary. He was too tired to break the awkward silence first. So, he just stared lazily at the man, though he was wide awake. Even if the nightmare hadn’t brought him to full alertness, being in Slade’s presence did.

“How often does this shit happen, Kid?” The accent got a lot thicker when the older man was tired. Jason valued his second chance at life too much to mention it, though.

“Which shit are you referring to? Taking a leak in the middle of the night or–

“You know damned well what I’m referring to,” Slade hissed with menace.

“Nightly.” He admitted, mostly because he just wasn’t going to tempt fate a second time by being a smart ass.

“Get to bed,” the one-eyed man grumbled as he knocked his shoulder into Jason’s on his way into the bathroom.

Jason almost snorted at the command. “Would if I could,” he mumbled instead. He knew how this worked. He’d been doing it since he ‘woke up’ in a grave. Well, off and on, anyhow. So instead of fighting whatever force wanted to haunt him in his sleep, Jason did what he always did.

He changed into his sweats and headed for the door. There was just too much to get done and at least this way, Jason knew he’d get a head start on the day. His work out routine could be pushed up a few hours with no serious alterations to his daily schedule. He just had to make sure Slade wasn’t going to take it personally. Then again, maybe having Jason out of the hotel room would give the older man a chance to sleep.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing now, Kid?” Guess not.

He turned to face Slade. “Gonna go for a run,”

“Why aren’t you trying to go back to sleep?” Jason was about to reiterate his earlier testament about clowns but Slade held up his hand. “Don’t answer that with another smart-ass remark or swear I’ll rip that tongue out of your head and beat you with it.”

Jason chuckled at the image as he leaned back against the door frame. “We both know I’m not gonna get any more sleep and if I’m in here tossing and turning it will keep you up.” He shrugged. “Let me do what I do, then I’ll be back by time you’re getting up.”

Until Slade looked over at the glowing red digits on the alarm clock, Jason hadn’t realized he was asking permission from the older man. He was struck by the notion and he felt his rebellion rise up in response. He’d always had a problem with authority figures. B’s larger than life personality had been so bold and obvious that Jason reacted instantly, but Slade was different. Jason hadn’t even noticed he was reverting back to the role of a minor in need of parental guidance.

He wondered if grown ass men reacted similarly to Slade’s presence or if Jason was still fucked up from his time in the box. He shuddered involuntarily at his own imagery.

“Fine.” Slade answered after a long pause. “But this isn’t the way we’re going to keep doing things. I _will_ find a way to solve your little problem.”

“Whatever you say, Deathstroke.” Jason shrugged and took the opportunity to get the hell out of the room before the bigger man could make good on his earlier threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for typos. I'm not beta running this one at the moment since I don't think too many people are reading it. I'm mostly writing this to make sure I keep their characters right in my head as I write them in Rise of the Red Hood. If anyone has anything they'd like to know about the training of Jason with Slade, please let me know. Sometimes your guys' comments have changed entire outcomes of ROTRH. If you don't like it, sorry, I guess.


	3. Laps

Jason ran. He ran as fast as he could, as hard as he could. He could feel the man on his heels, knew that if he stopped for even a moment he was going to be in for the fight of his life. He could feel his heart racing, could feel his lungs laboring to keep up. It meant he was failing to keep the panic back. His body was in too good of shape to be reacting this way, which meant his anxieties were taking hold.

He absolutely could not allow Slade to catch him. He didn’t have the energy for another round of sparring with the enhanced human. Especially not with a panic attack coming. Part of him, the part that had always tried to submit to Bruce’s rule, wanted to do as Slade had told him earlier. The man demanded Jason tell him when a panic attack was tearing its way through his mind and body.

Glancing up at the moon above the track, Jason tried to refocus himself. Thinking about the panic wasn’t going to help. He needed to clear his mind and yet stay ahead of Slade while he did so. There were really only two rules Jason had to follow. Stay on the dirt track that surrounded the football field and run until Slade told him to stop or until Slade caught him.

It was going over those rules that made Jason realize he could no longer hear Slade behind him. He risked a glance backward and then nearly stumbled to a stop when he noticed he wasn’t being followed anymore. Foolishly, and he knew it was foolish the moment he did it, he looked all around him, no longer running.

They came to Midland Texas because Slade had some business out in the area. That had been taken care of their first night in town. Now they stayed because the Terminator insisted that the small city would be the perfect place to train him. He claimed people minded their own damn business, that they only called the cops when something really bad was happening. Otherwise they took care of it themselves.

They were obsessed with oil, food and of course football. After all, the track he was currently running didn’t surround a high school or college football field. Oh no. This was a just a public football field next to a duck pond, a playground, and a baseball field. All for community use. Though Jason was pretty sure they were definitely breaking some park curfew mandates being out at twelve-thirty in the morning.

He looked over the field and the stands, his eyes searching for Slade. He had to be close. He’d just heard him! He felt his heart rate picking up even higher, felt an odd flutter, a flutter he knew was normal but felt for a moment like it had stolen his breath. His body tensed and he felt his breathing stutter as gasped for air.

Everything felt harder. Breathing, thinking, seeing, hearing, it didn’t feel right. Something was wrong. He couldn’t find Slade, he couldn’t move, he could only focus on the uneven breaths. Sharp and deep one moment, shallow and quick the next. He felt nauseated and his head was aching. Sheer panic flowed through him as he dropped to a knee, his right-hand clutching at his chest, his mind warring with his instincts.

He was fine. Nothing had happened. He wasn’t going to drop dead. Those were the war cries of his instincts. But his mind warned him, brought back the memory of the physical dread he’d just felt. What the fuck was wrong with him?

At once, he saw the shadows move. No. Not shadows. Shadow. He rolled to his left just as a big, heavy boot came down where he’d just been kneeling. He got to both feet and blocked a vicious right hook. Back and back again he moved as Slade threw strike after strike at him. Jason was forced on defense as he struggled to keep up with the infuriated man before him.

Slade moved like a war god. Despite his heavy frame, he was quick and agile. Actually, quick was an understatement, Jason realized when he took a jab to his chin. The enhanced human was lethal and precise, and it took all of Jason’s prior training, even his training before he’d died to keep from getting too badly hurt or hit too many times.

Jason knew that trying to think ahead with someone like Wilson would actually get him caught in an even worse trap. If he wanted this fight to end, he had to lose or submit. The idea of admitting defeat felt like dying and Jason roared as he surged forward and headbutted Slade. The man was hardly dazed as he swept Jason’s legs out from under him. Down he went, hitting the ground.

He rolled again.

“Yield to me, Jason,” Slade hissed into the night air.

“Never!” Jason growled and then Slade rushed forward, and all Jason saw was black.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

“You reach for those cigarettes one more time and I’ll break your fingers, Kid,” Slade growled with menace, keeping a steady pace beside him as they were back to running laps. For some reason being knocked out didn’t count as sleep to the mercenary.

 “I wasn’t reaching!” Jason denied as he panted. He didn’t stop running again.

“Then you have a tic,” Slade’s one brown eye narrowed disapprovingly, he couldn’t see it, he just knew the man’s mannerisms enough by now to know. “if you have a tic, then you have a tell, if you have a tell, then you’re in some serious shit, Kid.”

“I need some water, not nicotine you ugly, fucking cyclops.” Jason snapped.

He found himself choking and gasping for air, his sweaty back pressed into the dirt track. It hurt, but not nearly as bad as his jaw. He couldn’t remember Slade punching him in the jaw, just the over the hip body slam that resulted in his staring up at thousands of white dots littered into the dark blue sky and Slade’s hateful gaze.

“You know, Kid, your teachers were either trash or you were just too much for them.” The older man crouched down near his head. “Too much rebellion, too much lip, and too much baggage. You’ve got no discipline and you’re too stubborn to realize it.”

“I have discipline!” Jason argued as he tried to sit up.

Slade pushed him back down to the ground. “You’re a manipulative little shit, and a great actor. You _acted_ like you were falling in line. You _acted_ like you were under their thumbs. I can see you doing it now,” he added with a sneer. “You think you’re fooling me, but I see right through you Todd. You’re falling apart. You’re letting your mind trip you up. I saw the panic attack coming, it’s why I attacked you.”

Jason swallowed against the confusion and shock. He’d known Slade was good, but he applied “good” to his being a mercenary. If he’d known that Slade was just an evil, twisted up version of Bruce, he never would have agreed to be taught by him.

“I keep waiting,” Jason admitted as he licked his lips and wasn’t surprised when Slade let him sit back up. He didn’t want to say it, not aloud and yet, would the Terminator let him keep it himself? The man’s angry brown eye seemed to indicate he was about to lose his patience. “I keep waiting for Death to come back. To realize he made a mistake, that I escaped him somehow.”

To his surprise, Slade looked thoughtful at his words and even managed a tight-lipped frown. He took a deep breath and then nodded after seeming to think on it. “What’s it going to change if you do drop dead?”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s say you are right, let’s say Death comes and takes you back to wherever you escaped from,” Slade began, his eye watching Jason closely. “what could you do to stop him?”

Jason’s jaw dropped. “I don’t want to die again.”

“Few do, Kid, but I don’t think it’s the dying that terrifies you,” The older man’s words were rough, but softly spoken. “Is it?”

Jason trembled at the forced memories. The pain in his fingers, the fear of being trapped into the small confines of the box. The lack of breathable oxygen and the burning in his lungs. The way he’d hyperventilated and passed out at least once before waking back up in blinding pain and terrified agony.

“It’s not,” Jason agreed in a whisper.

“This is why you can’t sleep, Kid,” Slade rumbled beside him. “You should have paid more attention in your training. Those men and women were meant to condition you, to harden you not just physically but mentally. Which means you either had shit teachers, or you foolishly ignored them because of your misplaced paranoia.”

“Misplaced paranoia?” Jason snarled. “They weren’t training me for my own good, but to make me one of them! I am not one of Ra’s al Ghul’s shadow puppets!”

“No one said you had to be,” Slade rolled his eye as he stood back up. “But you’re a fool if you didn’t take advantage of all they had to teach you.”

“It’s not that,” Jason growled through gritted teeth. “I did just fine with the others for your information!”

“Then why are you falling apart on _me_?” Slade demanded, and Jason felt his face flame red with shame. “You think _I’m_ the one to fail with, Todd?”

Jason got to his feet and stood to his full height, almost looking the man eye to eyes. “I’m _not_ failing, I’m–”

“Weak,” Slade hissed. “Broken. Pathetic.” Before Jason could even block or prevent it, he found his sweaty chin held by Slade as the man leaned in close and snarled the next word. “Dead.”

Jason’s lip curled back, and he moved into a violent lunge. Slade however, expected it. Once more Jason’s body refused to react quickly enough, so he found himself kneed in the gut before crashing to the ground. He winced in pain even as he tried to get back up. 

“Ra’s said you were an impressive student. Far more receptive than he’d expected.” Slade’s words held Jason frozen. There was absolutely no chance Slade wasn’t going to follow up with something cruel. “But then, he also indicated it was a shame that the League couldn’t get Grayson instead.”

He tried so hard not to react, so hard not to tighten his jaw or blink away the rush of emotion that ran straight to his heart. He didn’t doubt for once second that Slade caught it all. He probably even noticed the way Jason nearly curled up on himself as if he’d been stabbed. Jason tried not to think about the fact that being compared to Dick so negatively still hurt.

“Get up, Todd.” Slade snarled. “I think you have another hour in you.”


End file.
